


Christmas Canoodles

by KinugoshiDofu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Japanese Sirius, M/M, Mutual Pining, Norwegian Remus, Sharing a Bed, with some smut on the side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinugoshiDofu/pseuds/KinugoshiDofu
Summary: It's the trope holy trinity with Wolfstar: when Remus's grandmother mistakenly assumes he is dating Sirius and invites them over for Christmas on a fjord, there's nothing this loyal grandson can do but fake a relationship and call his best friend boyfriend - can this particular werewolf survive sharing a bed with his crush all during the holidays? Only one way to find out!





	Christmas Canoodles

**Author's Note:**

> Remus's grandmother is Norwegian, and the Black family is Japanese.
> 
> Thank you so so much to bbbj for beta reading this for me! It was so nice to have someone's thoughts and comments to support me through this process!

Christmas Canoodles

 

***

It all starts with a letter.

All four of them are huddled over breakfast – the giant Christmas trees and merry garlands and wreaths had gone up just the day before, driving them out of the castle on one last late-night scavenger hunt before the weather became too cold to face and snow would quickly spoil their invisibility-cloaked fun.

Peter may or may not have gotten a little frostbite and James looks not-yet awake enough, shovelling porridge into his mouth with his eyes closed.

He himself is feeling as if the two-hour-nap they took right before getting dressed for class is probably the worst mistake they’ve made in a long time – which is saying a lot, considering only last week they almost accidentally set fire to Hagrid’s cabin – and he feels like now is a good time to take a long hard look at his priorities,  _ sleep _ being on top of that list.

For some inane reason, Sirius Black is as chipper as  _ always _ , which is honestly so unfair because  _ he’s _ the one who was interrupting their naps with stupid comments like “if I cast  _ lumos _ in a black hole, will there be light?”.  There’s a full moon in another week and he feels particularly snappish, just about ready to viciously chomp the raven’s head off, when the boy exclaims, “Remus, it’s Gregers!” and thumps his friend unreasonably hard in his ribs.

He is, however, correct.

As Remus lifts his tired head from where he’d been dozing besides his bowl full of porridge, he sees his grandmother’s beautiful Ural owl making way through the sky. His white feathers and grey-brown plumage make him stand out unmistakably, and he lands gracefully on Remus’ shoulder, giving an attentive peck to the boy’s ear.

Remus can feel a tired smile light up his face, and he reaches for a bit of bacon to feed to the animal before he goes to undo his grandma’s letter. He allows Sirius to pet it and feed Gregers some of his leftovers, before telling him to move to the owlery for a well-deserved nap – even for a strong owl such as his grandmother’s, the trek over from Oslo must have been exhausting.

It’s always nice to receive mail from his father’s mother – although he had not met her much growing up, his grandmother having stayed in Norway even as her son started working for the British Ministry of Magic and started a family – her words are always kind and heartfelt, and he imagines she like no other knows the loneliness he felt growing up as a child. She herself grew up in a hidden-away magical town on a fjord near Oslo, with nothing around for miles but mountains and water.

He knows especially now, with the long nights and short days, his grandmother struggles. His father is always busy at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and his mother loathes to travel anywhere without her husband and son there to accompany her. They haven’t visited her since Remus’ first year in Hogwarts, and he does terribly miss her.

When he opens up the envelope two pastel blue tickets fall out immediately, the paper thick so that they kind of sink into his porridge just a little bit.

Sirius fishes them out with a barked laugh, fanning them around to get the oats off.

“Moony, are you leaving us?!” his eyes go wide as he spots the gracious cursive on the parchment; they’re tickets for the International Floo Network.

At this the brunette frowns, taking the tickets from his friend carefully. He’s not sure why they’re even there – they haven’t discussed the upcoming holidays, and Remus is quite sure his father would have told them if they were planning on visiting. Then again, even if they  _ were _ , that doesn’t explain why there’s only two tickets.

He unfolds the letter and starts reading and everything is fine, at first.

She talks about Oydis and Svante, her Samoyeds, and how much they’ve been going on walks lately. She talks about how delicious the fish is this time of year, the sheep’s meat her neighbour gave her, and how the mead she is brewing is going. There’s moving photo cards included of his grandmother decked out in winter coat, two white balls of enthusiastic fluff by her side as they sprint around the already snow-covered landscape.

The last paragraph is  _ appalling _ .

_ “I want you to come to celebrate Christmas with your grandmother and your aunt and uncle,” _ she writes, referring to her dogs, and Remus laughs, because that’s not the horrific part.

The horrific part is this:  _ “and I expect you to bring Sirius! I can’t wait to meet your boyfriend. I look forward to properly being introduced.” _

He’s pretty sure he stops breathing.

Next to him Sirius is babbling, bumping his shoulder into the brunette’s, and that kind of jolts him back into action.

“—your grandma?” he only catches the end of Sirius’ phrase, but he’s pointing at the destination on the tickets, looking at his friend expectantly.

“Um?” Remus thinks he might be staring, but his head hurts already and Sirius is looking  _ really good _ this morning, golden kanzashi keeping up his hair atop his head, his tie half undone and a whole column of his white throat visible, running down into his collarbones where just a speck of black ink can be seen.

It’s getting harder to think by the minute.

He gets up, quite abruptly – unnoticed by the other two Marauders, James staring blankly at his spoon and Peter asleep on his shoulder – waving awkwardly as he packs up his letters and the Floo tickets.

“See you in Potions!” he shouts, too loud for how close Sirius actually is, and he can see the boy backing away slightly at the sheer volume.

Then, he runs.

He spends the day being overly interested in everything their professors have to say, shushing the older Black boy any chance he gets and then running away as soon as class has ended. He skips dinner and finds a quiet nook in the library, so that he can finally bring out the letter again, rereading what his grandmother had written.

Dogs, meat, mead, boyfriend.

Yup. Just as he thought. He hasn’t been dreaming – although he really wishes he had been.

It’s not like he can exactly  _ blame _ his grandmother for the conclusion she’s jumped to. He realises he probably mentions Sirius in his letters more than may strictly be necessary, and more than he mentions either Peter or James. Thinking back, he should have realised the misunderstanding much sooner, as she had been going out of her way to ask about the Black boy’s wellbeing, and frequently checking whether they were still doing okay.

Remus has been naïve.

And now he’s in this pickle; because his grandmother wants what’s best for him, and wants to see him happy and flourishing. All these years she’s been comforting herself with the thought that Remus has found a partner who loves and cherishes him. How is he supposed to break her heart so cruelly, telling her that actually,  _ no _ , nobody loves the beast yet,  _ farmor _ .

It also isn’t as if the idea in itself is a horrible one. He would be quite happy to spend Christmas with Sirius, and, dare he admit it, call the boy his boyfriend.

The thought alone has him blushing quite fiercely, and he hides his face in his knees as he groans aloud.

He’s heard Sirius talk about Christmas plenty of times; in the Black household, they don’t celebrate it at all, as Christmas is a couples holiday in Japan, and not the religious celebration it is to many other people in the world. The oldest Black son however, absolutely loved the idea of it ever since he, as a child, walked the London streets, in awe of the celebratory decoration, the Santa Clauses on street corners collecting money for charities, and the huge Christmas trees with golden balls the size of his face.

At Hogwarts he celebrates the holiday almost religiously; he hand makes garlands to decorate his bed, makes them all wear ridiculous red hats as they made snow angels outside, and gives them all heaps of presents, making them unwrap one daily, every day, before actual Christmas – his version of the Advent calendar, lovingly dubbed the Sirius-spoils-mas calendar by his friends.

Spending Christmas with Sirius at his grandmother’s place would be lovely.

And therein lies the rub.

He himself would probably enjoy it an almost sadistic amount, wherein his friend would be forced to go along with this ridiculous idea of them dating, while actually being bored out of his skull and missing the other Marauders.

It simply wouldn’t be fair to put him through that kind of torture and—

He almost jumps out of his skin when somebody flops down on the arm of his chair, quite unceremoniously.

“Reg!” the younger boy has already changed out of his uniform into an emerald yukata, carrying a set of towels – probably on his way to the prefect’s bathroom, “you scared the shit out of me!”

“Well, you deserve it,” he says haughtily, dumping his towels on Remus’ lap so that he can cross his arms across his chest, “Sirius says you’re going home for Christmas and he’s been pouting around all day. It’s really bad for my rep to be seen with a gushy Gryffindor, Remus.”

He sounds incredibly annoyed, but Remus knows better than to take Regulus Black seriously. He is the best actor slash liar in the whole school – after all, he pretends to be a woman every summer – and to anyone who doesn’t know either of them personally, it seems as if the Black brothers are at constant odds with each other.

In reality, either would readily take an Avada Kedavra for the other; it’s not even  _ funny _ , how much they love each other.

Sirius takes Regulus shopping for boys clothes, helps him with his dysphoria during summer break, and always refers to him as Reg – not even at home with his parents present does he use his dead name, Regina – kissing his temple tenderly during his period and currently putting aside money so that he can have his brother move into his small flat after graduation.

It’s almost obscene, how close they are.

Nonetheless, Remus doesn’t feel weird as he kind of blurts out everything that’s been going through his head since this morning, because Regulus, as previously mentioned, is an extremely good liar and even better at keeping secrets – on top of that, he once caught Remus staring dreamily at a picture of the older Black brother, and he’s never once judged, so since then Remus has always kind of just shrugged and then divulged every little detail of his adoration.

It helps that Regulus has the opposite of rose-tinted glasses when it comes to his brother, and is very good at keeping people down to earth.

This time however, he just kind of rolls his eyes and goes, “you are overthinking this  _ way _ too much. If there’s anyone ridiculous and daft enough to go with this, it’s  _ Sirius _ . Besides, he  _ loves _ the holidays.”

It’s a little weird, how kind Regulus is being, but he follows it up with a, “he is annoying as fuck but the holidays make him mellow, I can’t imagine anyone nicer to spend the holidays with,” and then, “except for maybe James but that’s because he’s really good with his mouth.”

He winks rather lewdly then, too, and Remus has to laugh, because there’s nothing lovelier than making fun of James Potter with his secret boyfriend.

Maybe Remus has a lot of unhealthy obsessions, who’s to say?

When no reply is forthcoming however, the younger raven coos, “or are you afraid he’ll find out about your little crush?”

The sound he makes in response is not human, more like a scared mouse who can only barely hide underneath the fridge before getting whacked with a broom than anything else. He nearly jumps out of his chair, using both hands to cover Regulus’ potty mouth while he furtively looks around to make sure the library is still deserted – it is, because no one is crazy enough to set a foot in there so close to winter break.

Regulus’ laugh is muted as the brunette’s cheeks turn bright red. He rolls his eyes again, nudges into the hold so that the grip goes a little lax. They stare at each other for a moment, and then Regulus seemingly takes pity on the Gryffindor, bumping their shoulders together as he says, “how about we take a bath and then you can smuggle me into the dorm?”

It sounds like a good idea, honestly, so Remus allows himself to be persuaded. They mess around with the bubbles in the prefect’s bathroom and he hides the younger Black under his cloak – everyone is in a too festive state to really care about the mysterious extra person he drags in – so that the boy can make a dash for the dorm to go make out with James.

Sirius is pouting at him from his place by the fire and it takes a lot of willpower not to simply roll his eyes, pretend he never received his grandmother’s letter, and go hide in his four poster until after winter break.

Except that his kanzashi – a simple golden one, with the imprint of a blossom at the end – is gleaming in the warm light and it’s possibly bewitching. So Remus is helpless really, but to trek over and casually go, “hey, I’ve kinda got a big favour to ask.”

***

Sirius is practically  _ bouncing _ with joy while they’re getting into the carriages a week later, the older boy dramatically waving a handkerchief at James and Peter where they’re standing by the gate, though they’re rapidly getting smaller and smaller as they drive off.

It almost surprises him how easy it had been to convince Sirius, but then he hadn’t actually put up any fight, and Remus just keeps thinking about how sad he had looked before, and how happy he’d been, after. He’s probably overthinking it, overly optimistic as he is, but maybe Sirius wants to spend Christmas together just as much as he does.

He shrugs inwardly and tries not to think about it – though it’s a thought that’s been persistent in his head ever since Sirius said yes.

It’s the first ever train ride where it’s just the two of them, and it’s not actually weird at all. Well, not at first.

They have a compartment all to themselves, and Sirius has one of the top windows opened to let out the smoke of his cigarette. He’s wearing his blue jeans with the hem folded up to just cover the tops of his worn black boots. Atop of that, he’s wearing a colourful haori today – the kimono-styled jacket reaching just over his hips – bright yellows and oranges accentuated by the jade kanzashi he has in his hair, yellow flowered fabric decorating the end of it.

Remus has packed and unpacked their trunk probably half a dozen times, as they’ve decided to share it rather than drag two heavy suitcases over, and he is particularly frightened he might have forgotten one of the gifts he’s so carefully prepared for his grandmother and Sirius, respectively.

The Black boy himself had spent their last night numbering all his presents diligently, so that James, Peter and Regulus would know in which order to open them, and then hexed them with an impressive number of spells to make sure they couldn’t be opened before their due date – Remus had deemed it unnecessary, but one look at Regulus’ face and James’ twitching hands had made him reconsider.

He keeps an eye on the brunette as Remus packs again, for the last time, folding his clothes atop the carefully hand-decorated presents Sirius has prepared, and then stacking his own atop. He closes the trunk for what he swears will be the last time, flopping down next to his friend just as he flicks the butt of his cigarette out through the window and blows out a plume of smoke.

“So,” Sirius says as Remus makes himself ready for a little nap, knowing they’ll be exhausted by the time they arrive at his grandmother’s, and he’s still drowsy after the full moon a couple of days prior, “should we hold hands?”

The question comes so unexpectedly that Remus can do nothing but blink at his friend, wondering if perhaps he’s imagined it. Sirius however, shrugs, “but then, I guess, we already hold hands right?”

Remus has the dignity to  _ splutter _ .

“I mean—“ he doesn’t know what he means, “do we?”

There’s no immediate reply, Sirius just kind of  _ stares _ . Then, very insistently, he lets his gaze wander down. Remus follows the gaze curiously, and then realises that their hands are currently comfortably entangled, fingers locked together as they rest between their thighs. It’s become so second-nature that he hadn’t even realised they’d done it.

He promptly blushes bright red. It’s definitely weird  _ now _ .

***

When they arrive at the International Floo port, a couple of blocks away from King’s Cross, the line for the Northern Europe fireplaces is quite long. Remus shows their tickets to the wizard at the gate as Sirius pushes their trolley away, tapping their trunk once to shrink it in size and pocket it.

“Hey um,” Sirius is getting into the cue, tugging at one of the tassels of his scarf, suddenly oddly timid, “I really appreciate this y’know.”

Remus frowns, not exactly sure what his friend is getting at. He can tell that the pale cheeks are getting a little pink, and he’s not entirely sure if the comfortable heat inside the building is to blame.

Seeing as no reply is forthcoming, Sirius awkwardly scrapes his throat and grumbles, “just y’know, it’s not every day I get the chance to travel.”

He thinks he understands, so he nods avidly, “of course! Let’s make the most of it!”

He’s afraid he might be a little bit too loud, but Sirius turns to him, smiling.

The trip itself is remarkably uneventful – they share a fireplace and the Floo-witch throws in just the right amount of powder for them to get to Oslo – but there’s a grin on the raven’s face that seems permanently plastered there. He is excited about everything they see, and when Remus has to take him by the arm to Apparate them over to Fjellstrand, his eyes are wide and shimmering with joy.

He is a sight to behold.

Remus can feel the magical barriers protecting the community even before they’ve properly landed, crackling in the air like electricity. They appear in a street bathed in a white snow carpet, floating torches illuminating the dark night sky – the houses stand apart proudly, with bright decorations covering window panes and lighting up the neighbourhood. The house closest by has an otter sparkling with yellow and brown light, zooming in front of the front door.

Cold air bites at their faces, but before either of them has the mind to cast a heating spell, there are deep barks sounding through the night sky, and two white creatures storming over at an alarming pace.

Remus drops to his knees to receive puppy kisses, Oydis licking at his face while Svante sniffs Sirius suspiciously. Sirius offers his hand to them, and then gently pets them – it’s obvious that both dogs can tell they’re not meeting a regular wizard, and they sniff excitedly and offer their heads up for pats as if they’ve known the teen their whole life.

“Farmor!” he waves as he spots his grandmother approaching, her blond hair whipping around in the wind – she is waving both her arms up at the sight of him, and he kind of rushes into a hug.

She holds him tight, like she always used to, pressing him into her chest as if she can keep him warm and safe there. They both know better, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

He introduces her to Sirius, who shakes her hand heartily and says, “nice to meet you farmor,” in a perfect accent and then the brunette belatedly realises he hasn’t actually explained  _ anything _ to him, and the boy probably assumes farmor is his grandmother’s name.

Which it isn’t.

Sirius just smiles though, and his grandmother pulls him into a hug spontaneously, warmth reaching her eyes as she looks the two of them over. She wraps her arms around their necks and says fondly, “let’s get you two inside.”

His grandmother’s illumination is more traditional – her animal being the mountain lion – and she has lit up flowers on her knocker and hanging off the window sills. Besides the front door, there’s a wooden figure of a seated brown mountain lion, holding cannelbra’s in its paws and moving its giant head to nod at them in greeting.

The house is dark inside, but as soon as Leola opens the front door, all the lights spring to life, and they can hear the unmistakable sound of a fireplace roaring into action in the next room. Her coat unzips itself and flies off towards the coat hanger, and the door seals itself as soon as the two dogs have come trotting in after the teens.

Her home is comfortable, the front door opening up into a small hallway with a wooden staircase and doors leading to the kitchen and the living room. The floor is pale aspen with a cosy wool rug that the dogs flop down on upon entering, and the lights give a candle-like yellow glow to the room.

She turns to face them properly, and as Remus struggles to unwind his scarf, she takes his face in her hands quite forcibly, “let me have a proper look at you.”

Sirius is grinning at him and he tries his best to shoot daggers with his eyes at the cocky raven but the effect is somewhat softened by Leola running his wrinkled fingers over his face, down his neck where he knows he has fresh wounds from the last full moon. She tuts her lips, looks at his face seriously and then at Sirius’.

“Have you been taking care of my  _ ulv _ ?” the brunette blushes red at the nickname  _ and _ the implication of that question – he tries to beg Sirius not to answer with his eyes, but the boy takes his role very seriously.

He nods solemnly, “I could do better.”

They have a little stare-down, and Remus is kind of in awe of how  _ serious _ Sirius is. He’s hardly  _ ever _ serious.

“Stop it,” Remus admonishes, “you do plenty!”

This seems to satisfy his grandmother, as she nods sternly and then presses a kiss to his forehead. The next moment she is smiling again, rubbing her hands as she looks them over.

“Are you hungry? Not too exhausted from the trip?” she’s already heading into the kitchen, and within seconds they can hear the sounds of pots and pans flying around.

They sit around the table with Leola serving them an ample amount of meat, quickly stirring up some green beans to keep them satisfied. For the most part, she just watches them eating, wolfing down like two starved animals – they haven’t had a proper meal since breakfast, which suddenly feels years ago – fussing over them and bringing them more bread and tea. She’s eager to hear about how their last year is going, so she makes Remus spill the beans around his mouthfuls, laughs as Sirius tells her about the mischief they’ve been getting up to.

It’s not very surprising that she takes to Sirius likes a moth to a flame – who doesn’t? – but even Remus is a little surprised. She’s notoriously hard to please, and possibly even harder to get to know. Yet after no time at all, she’s telling Sirius of her own childhood mishaps, giggling as she gushes about her ex-husband.

She’s still in a particularly good mood as they help her with the dishes – Sirius showing off his practice of non-verbal spells as he makes the cutlery dance with just a swoop of his wand – and she then guides them upstairs with a kiss to Remus’ temple.

Then things get as catastrophic as they possibly can.

The guest room only has one bed.

Other than that, it’s perfect. There’s a small fireplace by the far wall that is roaring soothingly, a door to the en-suite bathroom, a cosy looking rug, a set of drawers, a mirror, and a small balcony with a double seat. And one single double bed that is looking tinier by the minute.

Sirius doesn’t seem to realise – he’s hugging Leola goodbye and bumping his shoulder in to the brunette’s when the younger boy continues to just stare – taking out their trunk and reshaping it to its original size with a tap of his wand.

He looks almost ethereal in this light; without his coat you can see his delicate collarbones and the ink stained there, his lips are pink and his cheekbones are shimmering in the yellow glow, his fingers delicate as he works on the trunk. It’s a single moment in time but it seems to go on forever, dark locks falling into his face, eyes dark pools of swirling grey and--

The brunette kisses his grandmother goodnight and then after he’s closed the door he’s forced to face the very excited Gryffindor who’s unpacking their luggage, a careless, “so which side of the bed do you want?” thrown over his shoulder as he rummages through his clothes.

Remus remembers how to breathe.

“I don’t care,” he says, and he really doesn’t, because if he’s being completely honest he’s kind of expecting himself to pass away from excitement somewhere during the night anyway, “um hey, my grandmother’s name is Leola.”

He tries to sound casual, but he feels his voice kind of crop up near the end of it because Sirius is looking at him, mysterious smile on his face.

“I know,” he says, and the smile turns devious.

“Oh? But then—“

“Your grandmother just seems like the type of person who’d appreciate being called grandma by her grandson’s boyfriend,” Sirius grins full out, showing all his teeth.

Remus lets out a surprised bark of a laugh – he can’t exactly argue with that, either, because his grandmother had taken to the boy immediately. He shakes his head at the ridiculousness of the situation, and then joins his friend by their trunk.

They take turns changing in the en-suite, and Remus tries really hard not to think about that as he gets into his pyjamas. He’s brought his fluffiest pair, and that suddenly feels really stupid; he looks at himself in the mirror but it’s not a very impressive sight. His hair is a mess, again, his collarbone is still a little red from where he’s bitten himself, and he’s a little hunched with how tired his body still is. He reminds himself of his granddad, and for a seventeen year old, that’s not all that cool.

He takes the side of the bed closest to the balcony, seeing how Sirius has left notes all over the right side, claiming it quite obviously. Leola has gotten them matching hot-water bottles, both of them soft and plush, one a grey wolf, the other a black dog. Sirius hasn’t mentioned it yet, but he’s already put a spell on the both of them, and his dog is already tucked underneath the blankets.

It doesn’t take very long for Sirius to come back out again, and waiting is making him feel kind of sick to the stomach. It’s all very stupid, because in reality they have actually fallen asleep on the same bed before, all four of them, too, so this shouldn’t be such a big deal.

But it is. A deal of massive proportions.

He’s fiddling with the blankets when the bathroom door opens and Sirius is wearing a soft pink yukata, the obi a slightly brighter colour. The sleeves are hanging open and he is putting his hair into a high ponytail atop his head, so that his entire arms are bared, black ink running across them in intricate patterns. It's impossible not to stare, because no matter how many times Remus sees his friend's tattoos, the direction in which they move is always changing, something languid, sometimes in waves, and it is almost hypnotic.

"So," Sirius flops down on the other side of the bed, tucking his legs underneath his body as he rummages through his papers, "your grandmother calls you wolf?"

It's then that Remus notices that the scribbles, which had seemed completely random at first, are actually Norwegian. There's standard phrases and a whole row of vocabulary, ' _ ulf _ ' at the top of the list.

"Sirius..." Remus might be a little bit in awe, if he's being completely honest, eyes taking in the upside down writing, "you don't have to go through all that trouble."

"But I want to," Sirius says with a shrug of his shoulders, "so?"

He puts his papers away on the bedside table and then gets underneath the blankets, looking over at his friend in anticipation. Remus feels his cheek heat – they're really close now, almost touching underneath the blankets, and maybe Sirius' yukata has slipped open to reveal some of his pale thighs and—

He clears his throat to hopefully clear his mind – it doesn't work – and then when the raven just continues to look at him expectantly, he decides to get comfortable himself. He tucks the warm-water bottle under his sore back, stares at the ceiling, and then tells Sirius a story.

He talks about how all wizards in this area are animagi, and how their animals have special significance here, as they are believed to represent a vital part of the witch or wizard they belong to. When his grandmother's mother was pregnant she had visited the Langedrag Nature park, only for her tummy to go crazy when faced with an impressive mountain lioness; this had led her to dub her daughter Leola.

She had been nervous for Remus, but apparently, one summer when he was still only a toddler, the family had been visiting when he had wandered off into the woods. His mother had let him, believing he wouldn't get very far with his little legs.

Apparently, when they later found him, there was a female wolf taking guard over him as he giggled and reached out to pet her fur.

“Gran says I’ve always been a wolf,” Remus concludes, turning onto his side so that he can see his friend – Sirius’ eyes are sparkling with excitement, a grin on a face, “even way back before I was bitten.”

The raven flattens his face into the pillow to get more comfortable. His smile softens, and he hums, “she might just have been right Moony,” before he closes his eyes.

Remus doesn’t fall asleep until much, much later, lulling off to the sound of his best friend’s breathing.

***

When he wakes up he doesn’t feel nearly as rested as he’d hoped he would. He’s spent most the night tossing and turning and every time there’s the sound of Sirius’ breathing, the heat radiating off his body and Remus swears he can see the look on his sleeping face even in the pitch black.

He doesn’t properly fall asleep until early morning and then he wakes up again and he’s pretty sure it’s almost noon – the sun’s risen already, colouring the sky pink but dim.

There’s the smell of newly roasted coffee in the air and when he turns over, rubbing at his face tiredly, he realises the bed is empty. The wolf hot-water bottle is still warm at his feet, and though Sirius is no longer there, his scent lingers in the bed, his magic crackles in the air.

He gets his feet into some warm woollen socks and then makes his way downstairs.

The radio’s playing a soft tune, and Oydis is running from the kitchen to the living room and back, the smell of food exciting her. The door to the kitchen is wide open and—

It’s funny because for a moment all he can hear is the sound of the radio and all he sees is the back of Sirius’ body behind the stove, long hair flowing down his back freely and the cotton of his pink yukata soft against his nape, long fingers dancing to the tunes as he cracks the eggs against the pan and then with another swish gets them cooking away and he thinks,  _ how wonderful would this be _ , if only it were his future.

And then he hears his grandmother, smile in her voice as she shows Sirius how to make the smoked salmon shape itself beautifully on the plates. Sirius in turn shows her how he gets the bacon all nice and crispy and then makes it hop onto the plates, making her laugh.

“There you are darling, have you slept alright?” his grandmother smiles even brighter at the sight of him.

When Sirius turns around his eyes are sparkling and his pink lips are upturned in a smile and Remus thinks maybe he stops breathing for a moment.

He nods, but maybe the stiffness in his shoulders gives it all away because the raven tells him, “I’ve packed the magic salts, why don’t you go take a bath before brunch?” and it’s probably one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever done for him.

He’s not an idiot.

He thinks about it all through bath-time, because his grandmother had smiled rather adoringly and he knows, quite surely, that, fake relationship or not, Sirius would have brought the magic salts either way.

And having seen the look on his grandmother’s face, he realises that it is a very nice thing to have done indeed. But then Sirius has always been exceedingly nice about this.

He soaks his sore muscles and tries not to think about it, because thinking about it only leads him to hope that maybe, some day—

Except that he knows that if it were James or Peter, he’d have done the exact same thing and not thought about it twice.

So he scrubs at his skin, lets the water rinse away his pain and tries to remind himself that  _ this isn’t real _ because it’s not – it’s a friend helping out a friend and that’s that, no matter how smitten  _ he _ is, there’s no way Sirius is—

There’s just not.

They sit out on the patio for brunch, where his grandmother has a small spot kept protected from the harsh winter weather and snow. Sirius sits close besides him on the wooden bench and they watch the dogs play in the garden, as a light snowfall colours the sky grey. The air smells fresh of the pines and the bushes and it feels like coming home, all over again.

Together they have toast and smoked salmon and eggs and bacon and Sirius is warm against his side, watching the dogs prance around. He gives his friend a pleading look, and then when the brunette just smiles, he gets up.

Seconds later there’s a big black Shikoku dashing through the snow, veering off into the woods with the two Samoyeds on its tail. It takes a moment for Leola to get over her initial shock but then she’s doubling over, leaning heavily into her grandson as they laugh together, watching Sirius roll around in the snow, playing with Oydis and Svante as the two sniff him curiously.

Remus isn’t sure how his grandmother knew, but he knows she knows, and her mischievous smile only confirms his assumptions.

He’s pretty sure, at this point, his grandmother knows every single thing about him.

(Except maybe that his boyfriend is actually just his fake boyfriend and how he desperately hopes his fake boyfriend would be his real boyfriend.)

***

They walk to the corner store together later, because his grandmother insists on throwing a party and wanting to prepare snacks accordingly. It’s actually quite nice, because the sun is at its highest and Sirius is decked out in his comfy jeans and fluffy mittens and he’s making a face as he tries to hold onto things in the shop and then fails, pouting.

He’s absolutely enamoured by everything he sees, wants to stop at every house to find the depiction of the owner’s animal, which he knows must be hiding somewhere. Some houses have wooden sculptures, Christmas lights dancing around in the shapes of birds, and some have just a small emblem engraved with their Animagus shape hanging off the door.

Sirius is absolutely fascinated by it all, to the point where he even goes up to doors just so he can check – much to Remus’ mortification when he almost bumps into the wizard living in said house and then says  _ thank you _ instead of  _ sorry _ in Norwegian which gains them an even weirder look – and he constantly points at random birds and goes, “I bet they’re people.”

It’s endearing, honestly, and it warms Remus’ heart to think his friend is having so much fun.

In the shop he bugs Remus by asking translations for everything he says, stiffly refusing to use a simple translation spell on the etiquettes because “where’s the fun in that?!”

He’s very curious about everything except for the cheese, because “that’s not how cheese is supposed to look ok?!” and he dutifully helps Remus find everything on Leola’s list. Then, he buys them a whole array of Freia chocolate candy bars, and even though Remus insists he doesn’t need to, Sirius shuts him up with a, “don’t flatter yourself, this chocolate has  _ storks _ Moony! Storks!”

On their way back Sirius levitates their shopping bags a little out front of them, and he feeds Remus little bits of candy bar as he unwraps them and tries them one by one. They share one with peanuts and a smooth toffee core which Sirius loves – Remus is pretty sure it’s mostly because the name translates to “peanut log” which the older boy finds hilarious – and one with a pretty wrapper that has hazelnuts and is soft milk chocolate.

They help Leola with some of the preparation and then go upstairs to wash up before the guests arrive. Remus is a little nervous at the prospect of meeting people he hasn’t met in half a decade, but his friend is all quiet confidence and dazzling smiles and it’s  _ soothing _ , how everything is always changing, with the one constant that is Sirius Black’s self-esteem.

The house smells good and it’s comfortable and warm and Remus is wearing his favourite sweater – grey Norwegian wool and a low turtleneck – and he gets to see his best friend all decked out in a red kimono with a dark hanten that Remus has gotten him for Christmas, and there’s no lovelier sight than Sirius Black, comfortable in his own skin, admiring himself in the mirror.

On the back of the hanten Remus has bewitched the stitches to form a prancing deer, a howling wolf, a sneaking mouse and a cocky dog in white thread, and he enjoys watching the raven stop still, trying to see what the Marauders are getting up to on his own back.

He’s in an exceedingly good mood as they dress – probably because of all the sugar – and even allows Remus to pick out a kanzashi for his hair. Predictably, he chooses the silver one that has a small fan depicted at the end, small silver strips of metal running down from the fan in waves. He likes that one best of all, because not only does the silver match Sirius’ dark hair beautifully, it also makes a little tinkling sound every time Sirius moves, and he finds it to be quite hypnotic – another thing that suits his image of his friend perfectly.

The party, at first, is about as awkward as Remus had expected it to be. In pure unadulterated Sirius fashion he’s swooped in and wooed everybody, but it’s awkward because when people ask him, “well, how  _ did _ you meet our dear Remus?” he makes no attempts to embellish.

He just tells them about that time way back in first year when he and James found a sleepy brunette in one of the boats.

It’s not that Remus is embarrassed, it’s just that he’s pretty sure what they want to hear is something  _ romantic _ , and drowsy-after-a-full-moon Remus is anything  _ but _ .

To add insult to injury, he doesn’t even bother making up a good first-date story. Instead, he tells them about that one Hogsmead visit when Lily had won a bet and Sirius was forced to sample Madam Puddifoot’s assortment of teas and sweets before she took McKinnon there on a date. The raven had loathed the entire establishment, from its frilly doilies to its sugary sweet staff, and Remus, ever the good friend, had taken pity on him and accompanied the older boy there.

It hadn’t been catastrophic, and as he listens to Sirius tell the story of how the first tea they sampled was pink and far too sweet, so that Remus almost spit it out and had a coughing fit, he’s pretty sure it hadn’t been romantic, either.

Except Sirius reminds him of how the brunette, clumsy as ever, had managed to spill sweet cream on his bottom lip, and how Sirius, ever the gentlemen, had swiped it off. Leola’s neighbours  _ swoon _ , and make big eyes at the both of them, but Remus kind of wants to laugh because he’s also pretty sure Sirius had just done that to embarrass him in front of the Ravenclaw sixth years that had been seated at the next table over.

Except  _ then _ , Sirius reminds him of how he’d paid for their teas and cakes, and as he adds, “my mother taught me well,” he laughs because she hasn’t taught him anything – and then abruptly stops when he realises that, taught by his mother or not, Sirius had actually gone through the trouble of paying for him.

He finds it an odd thought, if he’s being completely honest, just because it’s never seemed significant before. Because before he’d probably never stopped to think about it, and now he feels kind of guilty that he’d let Sirius pay for him without a second thought – a good friend would have repaid him.

Except Sirius is a total unreliable fucker and he  _ winks _ at his grandmother’s oldest friend as he finishes the story with, “don’t worry, he paid me back later,” and just like that Remus is reminded of how  _ awful _ his friends are.

He’s pretty sure he’s blushing a pink he hasn’t reached in weeks, and it certainly doesn’t help that the raven’s hand is very innocently placed on Remus’ wrist, tender white skin brushing into his own and he’s so close Remus can  _ feel the heat _ and—

They get through introductions okay enough, if okay enough means Remus’ face is in a constant state of pretty tomato red.

He thankfully gets saved when Sirius gets distracted by Oydis and Svante and follows the two dogs plus a bunch of neighbourhood kids outside to play in the snow for a while, entertaining them in his human form and Shikoku form alike. Even then, he’s still left kind of  _ pining _ , a pathetic thing to do, because he likes to watch his friend enjoying himself – enjoys the sight of him playing with the children and the way the loose hairs framing his face wave in the wind – perhaps a little too much.

Like this, he loses track of time for a bit. He probably spends an insane amount of time just kind of  _ staring _ and then he gets distracted by a couple he’s never met coming up to shake his hand. Then he meets some of the teens he used to play with when he came to visit as a child; one girl, Faith she’s called, seems particularly happy to see him. They talk about their respective schools, as all them are excited to hear about Hogwarts, and he’s equally excited to hear about Durmstrang.

Remus has always been interested in Durmstrang, even as a child, since his grandmother used to tell him grand tales of the school hidden deep in the mountains and its caves, with a great lake and a garden always covered in layers of snow.

He gets really immersed in the stories Faith tells too, because she’s being very vague about the whereabouts but descriptive about the area nonetheless and it sounds like a place of dreams, of stern winters but warm fires and cuddling up together on rugs. She tells a story about the rumours of the Yeti and puts a hand on his arm as they laugh together in mirth.

It all ends rather abruptly when Sirius appears out of nowhere and presses a kiss to the brunette’s cheek with a flourish. He feels his own face heat up promptly, Faith’s eyes growing big like a deer caught in headlights. Sirius, the absolute  _ prick _ , puts on his sweetest voice as he gushes, “Moony, can you be a babe and help your grandmother and I in the kitchen?”

He doesn’t actually wait for an answer, instead just flashes this incredibly sweet smile at Faith and then leads Remus to the kitchen with a persistent hand on his elbow.

Leola is busy arranging hors d’oeuvres on a silver platter as they come in, Sirius putting on the biggest pout he’s donned in ages as he complains, “you are  _ my  _ boyfriend, why was she  _ touching _ you?!”

Remus wants to sink through the floor in embarrassment because  _ honestly _ , it’s not as if he hasn’t been mortified through this whole ordeal enough already, but then he has to kind of laugh too, because this is  _ exactly _ the kind of thing the jealous raven would make a big deal about.

His grandmother bursts out in laughter and then he has to follow suit because his big baby best friend is being pretty damn ridiculous and Sirius juts out his bottom lip even further before he rolls his eyes and huffs, “honestly, you bisexuals are so greedy!”

“Oh, are we now, mister I’m-a-sapiosexual?” his voice is dripping with sarcasm and from the corner of his eye he can see his grandmother bite her lip as she tries to make out what he’s just said.

“Remus, please,” Sirius taps his foot for added effect as he says, very matter-of-factly, “have you seem how many dumb people there are? Being sapio is  _ hard _ .”

And with a flourish of his wand and a childishly stuck out tongue he leaves the kitchen to bring out the platter of appetizers. Remus is still laughing, but he feels his cheeks heat up again when he realises his grandmother is looking at him very intently – she knows him perhaps a little  _ too _ well.

“He was so  _ jealous _ ,” she stage-whispers, waving him over so he can help prepare another plate of food, “you should have seen him. He said, ‘I didn’t come all the way across an ocean to watch my boyfriend flirt with some girl!’”

He’s actually quite good with not having seen that, because if there’s one thing that leads on his delusions like nothing else does it’s how  _ possessive _ Sirius gets over their friendship. The older boy gets pouty when not being dotted with attention by the werewolf, and it feels like such a generally intimate thing – seeing how he does not seem to have similar feelings towards the other Marauders – that Remus cannot allow himself to think of the implications.

He knows that for him, the sight of Sirius talking to other people,  _ laughing _ – throwing back his head as he grins his teeth bare, long throat revealed and tender fingers grasping at the other person’s sleeve – is enough to drive him crazy with jealousy. It’s a shameful feeling though, one he keeps locked deep inside, because unlike Sirius, he’s quite sure he would not just be able to laugh it off with a pout and a jest.

“So,” she side-eyes him, giving him an odd kind of stomach feeling because it’s doing a little flop there, as if he’s erupted with flitterbies, “have you been practicing your dancing lately?”

The look she gives him says it all and maybe he wants to cry a little now, too.

Because every winter solstice celebration is accompanied by the fire dance, where lovers dance by the bonfire and when they are deemed lovers-for-life the fire spits out their Animagi forms and blesses them to be together eternally, in body and spirit.

Growing up with those stories, Remus has always dreamed of the day he would get to dance with his beloved. Even after getting bit, it was a fantasy he allowed to indulge himself into from time to time. This idea of Animagi mates something that would not shake him; because even though he can not become an Animagus, he doesn’t actually need one to know what animal is hiding inside of him, and the idea that there is someone out there that could tame his inner beast? It is lovely.

Except that he’s older now, and he has outgrown the idea of fairy tales, fire building up to shape a wolf and his mate’s Animagi form, and he sees is in his dreams, some nights, but he chases the thoughts from his head before he can dwell on them. Because he knows werewolves mate for life – and that you’d have to be a special kind of dense to think that  _ mating _ with a  _ werewolf _ would actually be a good idea.

But he can’t actually tell his  _ grandmother _ that. Because she has stars in her eyes, and he knows that she wants him to be loved and happy and he  _ is _ . Just not like  _ that _ .

So he just kind of awkwardly shakes his head and stutters, “oh—we won’t… Sirius won’t want to, it’s too early—“

He’s not sure what he’s saying exactly, and it all sounds stupid anyway. Sirius won’t want to because he doesn’t love Remus, and wouldn’t want to be stuck with him for life, at any rate. It’s really quite simple, but the thought makes his heart ache painfully.

His grandmother just scoffs, finishing off her salmon appetizers. She puts a wrinkled hand on his shoulder, and when she smiles it’s like the sun is shining.

“I’ll take that as a no,” she teases, then hums, “doesn’t matter, it’s got to come from the heart anyway.”

She moves her hand from his shoulder to his chest, and then abruptly turns to hand him the platter of hors d’oeuvres instead. He laughs, an awkward sound stuck in his throat, and then tries not to think about it again.

***

If he’s being one hundred percent honest, it’s all very lovely and all very painful, all mixed into one.

Some mornings he wakes before Sirius does, and their bodies are always close, pressed together and hands wrapped around torsos and he always has to kind of awkwardly untangle himself out of fear of being caught. He tries not to think about how weirded out Sirius must feel on mornings where he wakes up first, and hates his body for betraying him so, looking for the boy’s warmth when his mind is drifted off into dreams.

He’s not particularly  _ lovely _ , it’s not exactly the word Remus would use.

His hair is usually quite messy in the morning, pressed into the side of his face and plastered all across the pillow. Sometimes, when they’ve woken up spooning, Remus has the pleasure of seeing the tangled mop of jet-black hair that’s formed in Sirius’ nape. It’s quite ridiculous.

He snores, too, not endearingly, just loud obnoxious breaths, as if he wants to be heard even as he sleeps. Usually there’s a bit of spit on his lip, on the pillow, caked against his cheek, because he drools, too. It’s not attractive at all.

But—

But his lips are pink, smooth with the lip balm he puts on before bed. Soft and delicate and vibrating softly with his breaths. They look plush in the morning, for once remarkably still, a deep colour compared to the paleness of his skin.

And—

And his lashes are long, fanning over his cheeks and fluttering as he dreams. And his neck is long inches of inked designs, writhing across his skin to the beat of his heart and his fingers tangle in the sheets, tangle in Remus’ pyjamas, hold on tight and—

And it shouldn’t be so breathtaking, waking up besides Sirius Black. But it  _ is _ . And that’s a little heart _ -breaking _ , too.

In this aspect, he much prefers mornings where he wakes up to an empty bed. He gets to splash his face with water, tell himself,  _ “don’t be a twat he’s just your friend doing you a favour” _ and then he gets to go down in his pyjamas to find Sirius in the living room, silk robe thrown over his shoulder and seated besides the Christmas tree, finding the next present in the Sirius-spoils-mas calendar for Remus to open.

It’s not  _ much _ better, because Sirius is vibrant as always. He’s exactly like he always is, bubbly and exuberant, and he takes the Remus’s hand as he pulls him along in excitement, smiles so bright he outshines the sun, howls at the wolves in the park, and sits close as they have lunch outside.

But it’s easy to get pulled into, because he knows how down Sirius gets sometimes, and therefore he knows how precious his happiness is, and how lucky he is to be the one Sirius chooses to share it with. Because some nights he’ll turn pensive and still for hours on end, and then, he will have to miss Sirius’ warmth, and it will hurt all the more if he hasn’t properly basked in it earlier.

They go sightseeing, mostly, because Sirius rarely gets to travel and he is extremely eager to learn all he can about the place his best friend spent so much of his youth. He loves the Langedrag Nature Park the most, and takes multiple brochures at the entrance to practice Norwegian words and then spends most of their time pointing at the map and squealing as he spots wildlife.

In the evenings they sit in front of the fire while Sirius paints his nails or works on the map, always endeavouring to tidy up the lining and always adding new features that dazzle the other Marauders. Meanwhile, Remus reads or works on his Ancient Runes paper, and sometimes the raven will bend over next to him, huffing and complaining about their teachers being pricks before begrudgingly taking out his star charts.

Some evenings they go outside with blankets and heating spells cast on their hot chocolate, so that they can watch the stars and walk around in the forest in the dead of night, the pines rustling and the snow crunching under their boots.

One night they Disapparate to the edge of a forest area where his grandmother used to take him – she would use side-by-side Apparation for him and would let him drink chocolate milk from her lap as they watched the black icy sea below – it’s still there, no human beings around for miles, and it’s the first time Sirius sees the Northern lights.

He doesn’t say anything, but he stares for the longest time, dark eyes brimming with tears. Remus knows how he feels – aurora borealis has always been his most magical memory – though, if he’s being completely honest, he spends most of his time watching Sirius, instead.

Because his hair is wiping in the wind and his lips are parted and he’s meshed into Remus’ side so tightly, grasping his hand as if losing grip will mean losing his life, and with his eyes faced towards the heavens, Remus is sure he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

One day they track into town looking for souvenirs, and when Sirius pulls his hands to his face, blowing on them and rubbing them between his own – complaining about the brunette’s lack of self-preservation and the use of heating spells – he thinks he falls in love all over again.

Their eyes meet and he thinks his heart might be calling out, so loud Sirius must be able to hear. But the raven bares his canines in a smile, presses a kiss to his knuckles and chuckles as Remus’ cheeks heat up bright pink.

They browse the shop, and as Remus suggests he also buy his brother a souvenir, Sirius just huffs, “I spoil him enough as it is,” before sticking out his tongue and picking up a snow globe with prancing deer, “what d’ya think? Prongs’ll love it, right?”

After the purchase they spend an insane amount of time perched outside the shop, wands swishing as they’re determined to get the miniature deer glasses to match James’. After getting Peter gingerbread mice which peep and pat their little feet, they go to local restaurant for dinner, their faces flushed with laughter as they’ve successfully managed to magic up little strands of gingerbread hair to match their friend’s.

They walk home afterwards and the sky’s already gone dark but the stars light the way. They pass a group of workers, brandishing their wands as they’re stacking wood for the bonfire for the winter solstice, and Sirius watches them curiously.

It’s gone a little quiet now, as Sirius seems lost in thought, and their bags almost bump into the older couple in front of them as he gets distracted.

Remus is about to ask, because he wants his friend to know he  _ cares _ when he gets into a mood, but then they get overwhelmed by a bunch of boys and girls, a blonde calling out, “Remus!”

Faith and her Durmstrang friends are headed into the woods, and she smiles as she calls for them, “won’t you join us? We have Mad Mjolnir’s Magical Mead!”

She shakes a bottle in their faces to prove her point – from the size of her smile and the blush on her cheeks, Remus assumes they’ve been drinking for a while – before dashing off after her friends.

Sirius shrugs his shoulders noncommittally, and so they end up following the students into the forest.

They end up on a clearing near the water, where there’s already a couple of people building a fire with their wands waving around. They wave and call each other in greeting, the conversation in fast Norwegian as they settle down.

It’s warm and cosy and there is  _ so much alcohol _ .

Remus is pretty sure he hasn’t drank this much in months, and also pretty sure that whoever Mad Mjolnir is, his mead is too damn strong for any Hogwarts student he knows.

That’s why he’s not overly surprised that his friend gets drunk ridiculously quickly, as he’s not used to limiting himself when it comes to alcohol and is also particularly bad at understanding his own limits –  _ especially _ when he is in a glum mood.

He keeps an eye on Sirius from where he’s drinking with a Durmstrang boy, laughing and tipping the bottle back as the boy talks to him in hushed accented English. He’s not sure he wants to know what they’re saying.

Faith keeps him occupied with her stories, keeps trying to push the bottle into his hands, the liquor warm and comforting as it swirls around his mouth. The night air crackles with the sounds of fire and their laughter and he feels warm in his stomach, the booze nestled there and when he thinks of how Sirius had held his hands earlier he wants to cry so he doesn’t. Doesn’t  _ think _ .

He’s not sure how much he drinks or what time it is, but Faith’s hand is on his knee as she bends over, laughing, and then suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder too.

Sirius’ eyes are golden in the light of the fire, clear and sparkling despite how drunk he must be by now – his throat is constricting, Adam’s apple bobbing and the ink seemingly  _ aches _ to be touched by Remus’ fingers. He can barely stop himself from reaching out, giggles stupidly at how handsome his friend looks with his hair falling into his face.

He realises belatedly that he himself may be drunker than previously anticipated.

Sirius’ breath is hot against his ear as he speaks, “I’m gonna head home, you stay here with your friends.”

Maybe Remus’ brain has melted. He can feel his friend’s lips against his ear.

Instead of saying,  _ “no stay I’ll miss you if you go!” _ like he really wants to, he opens his mouth and makes a very unintelligent sound. He can feel Sirius’ chuckle more than he can actually hear it, warmth against his neck.

He thinks maybe the press of Sirius’ remarkably cold nose is next, soft and persistent against his cheek, but then their eyes are meeting and he’s suddenly oddly aware of how  _ close _ they are and he opens his mouth to speak, clearly this time,  _ insist _ they go home together but—

There’s Sirius’ lips now, for sure, plush and warm against his own mouth and he thinks maybe he nips at his bottom lip a little, too, leaves a little lick there and then before he can  _ reach out _ ,  _ press closer _ , the heat is already gone.

When he opens his eyes, unsure when he even closed them, Sirius is already gone.

***

He doesn’t remember how he got in bed, but he  _ does _ remember the kiss. He’s pretty sure it wasn’t a dream because even as his brain does its best to pound its way through his skull, he can feel his lips tingle with the pressure Sirius’ put upon them.

The bed is already empty and cold by the time he wakes up, and his watch tells him he’s sleep far past noon. Besides him the fluffy dog hot water bottle lies innocently atop the blankets, still heated by Sirius’ magic and even though the boy is gone, the presence of him still lingers.

He debates the chances of Sirius having brought a hangover potion along with the healing salts, but there’s no empty potion bottle around the room, which their surely should be if Sirius had used one to heal his own probably pounding headache.

Remus spends another couple of minutes basking in the warmth of the bed before making the decision that he will, eventually have to move, and seeing how the winter solstice celebration will be that same night, he should get in the shower sooner rather than later.

To his surprise, when he finally makes it downstairs, the house appears abandoned. Oydis and Svante are lounging in front of the fire on the carpet, but even as he calls out for his farmor, no answer comes. Sirius isn’t at his usual spot by the Christmas tree or on the patio, either, and there’s a worry that rapidly settles in Remus’s gut at the implications.

In the kitchen there’s a stack of French toast and different marmalades set out, and he finds a note pinned to the fridge.

“Ulf, we’ll be back soon! Eat up for tonight!” it says, and then kisses jotted down beneath the short message.

He takes a deep breath and tells himself not to worry.

(He does because worry is even more second nature than the wolf’s ever been.)

His grandmother and Sirius return home by the time he’s finished off his breakfast and let out the dogs in the backyard. They’re carrying shopping bags and Sirius is wearing a moss green bomber jacket with the furry hood covered in snow.

“There you are, we were worried you’d sleep until nightfall!” Leola smiles brightly as she spots her grandson, letting Sirius whisk the bags off into the kitchen while she magics off her coat and comes to give him a hug.

It’s  _ awkward _ because Sirius won’t meet his eye.

Luckily his grandmother distracts him by checking to see if he’s finished off his late lunch and then launching into a story of how they ran into Ranvir, the man who sets up the food stalls for the solstice celebration and how she promised him she’d send Remus over to help as soon as possible.

That’s even more awkward, because she is very carefully tiptoeing around the issue of what Sirius will be doing while Remus is away helping with the set-up, but as he gets into his coat and catches the boy’s eye, he’s smiling. The smile is barely there, lingering in the corner of his mouth, but it warms Remus’ heart as he’s about to brave the cold.

Before he closes the door he hears Leola going, “now…” and then nothing.

It’s easy to get distracted because Ranvir, although a kind man, is extremely stressed out by the time Remus arrives, and he has a lot of helping still left to do. They set up booths with some other teenagers helping out as well, and Remus gets to see the area all decorated before anyone else gets to.

The bonfire is being prepared in a big clearing in the woods, with the stalls being set up between the big pines. There’s lanterns up high in the trees and colourful shadows of all sorts of animals dancing around between the clearings. The sky is already darkening, but it doesn’t matter with all the cosy lights and the magic crackling in the air.

After helping an old lady with her own mead stall, she gets him a hot cup of the good stuff, before asking his advice on her choice of ornaments for the booth. He figures her Animagus form must be an otter, as she has small figurines swimming around in the snow covering the wooden roof of her stall. Her mead is warm in his stomach, and as he helps her put up some pink and yellow streamers, he lets his gaze wander around the area.

He’s sure that it’s the start of a very magical night.

And all he can think of is how he wishes Sirius would be by his side.

It isn’t until after Ranvir has started preparing the food in his own stall, dishing out baked goods and warm delights, that he spots Oydis and Svante among the gathering crowd.

They come up to greet him, yapping eagerly as he feeds them some of his soft beignet, and then his grandmother is making her way over hastily. He knows she is in charge of the music tonight, and she presses a quick kiss to his cheek, takes a bite of his apple beignet and exclaims, “your boyfriend will be a bit late!” before hurrying on to where an older man is already waving her over.

He watches, a bit aloof, as she sets up the instruments, and then shortly after a fiddle starts off a tune. She waves her arms and creates music, the instruments springing alive and moving to the beat as they hover a little above the snow.

It’s probably been years since he’s last seen her conduct – she plays some piano at home, but she’s been retired from before Remus started Hogwarts – but as ever, she looks completely in her element, her arms waving about as her magic creates a myriad of heavenly tunes. She has her eyes closed, off in her own world with her music now, and Remus watches as couples step up to dance besides the lit bonfire.

Remus always feels nervously nauseous and excited at the same time, watching couples dance – he can only  _ imagine _ the hope they feel as they move across the snow, how heartbreaking it must be to have the fire be undisturbed by their presence.

More people start dancing, some older couples that have probably already been blessed, other young people who are just out to enjoy themselves, and Remus thinks how funny it is, how his stomach is in knots at the mere thought of dancing so close to such a life-defying force.

When Faith comes up and insists they dance, the knot kind of dissolves though, and maybe what is really funny – or perhaps pathetic? – is how the thought is only a scary one if he were to dance with Sirius. Because—

Faith has her hands on his shoulder and he’s barely twirled her once when all of a sudden Sirius cuts in.

And then Remus is pretty sure he can’t  _ breathe _ .

Because Sirius is decked out in his formal clothes, and he’s wearing a beautifully bright red kimono that draws the attention to his slender figure immediately. Remus has never seen the garb before, but the linings are golden, and the pattern seems to dance across the fabric. He’s wearing a haori atop it, the sleeves of it wider than they ought to be, revealing his pale wrists and the ink there and Remus is pretty sure his fingers physically  _ twitch _ with the need to reach out.

The best thing however, is Sirius’ hair, dark waves of it falling into his face, framing his high cheekbones gorgeously. He’s gathered it atop his head, the kanzashi Remus loves so much sticking out from his bun, the small fan glittering in the light of the bonfire.

He doesn’t have to say anything, either, because his eyes are pitch black, eyebrow tipped up, leaving no room for discussion – Faith backs away without being implored to, and then Sirius’ hand is on his hip.

And he remembers how important breathing is.

Still a little peeved by the sudden appearance of his best friend, he allows Sirius to lead him closer to the fire. The older boy nods at Leola and the music starts a new tune as if to suit their pace. Their hands meet and Remus almost stumbles, his hand slow to find Sirius’ shoulder.

“I was wondering where you’d gone,” Remus murmurs almost shamefully, avoiding the raven’s eyes – he’s quite sure the darkness there can eat him alive, and it’s been a while since he’s had to brave a storm.

Sirius smiles, and they switch positions, his hand moving to find the brunette’s shoulder instead.

“It took a while to locate my obi,” he says with half a laugh, the sound bright in the night sky.

He’s not sure whether or not it’s a lie because despite how close they are he can’t actually see whether or not he’s wearing one, the haori possibly blocking it from his view. Now that he knows however, he can’t stop thinking about it, because he loves to watch Sirius tie his own obi; the way his nimble fingers work, the look of concentration on his face as he bites his lip.

In the light of the fire Sirius’ cheekbones seemingly burn golden, and when their eyes do finally meet it’s like coming home all over again.

“You look beautiful,” it’s a kind of desperate thought, too, because Sirius always looks beautiful, and he’s said it to himself over a thousand times, probably,  _ he is so beautiful _ .

He blushes as he realises he’s said it aloud however, Sirius’ smirk revealing he’s heard, so he tries to distract him, quipping, “I didn’t know you could dance.”

Sirius is still smirking, and it is still quite devilishly handsome. Damnit.

“Your grandmother taught me,” he doesn’t hesitate, not a sliver of embarrassment at the admission.

There’s a tilt in the music and Sirius easily drops his hands to the brunette’s waist and then lifts him as they twirl. It feels like a second nature, and Remus has moved his hands to the other boy’s shoulders without realising, utterly comfortable even as he’s being lifted. He lands elegantly and their hands join again, continuing to circle around the fire.

It’s then – and only then, as they circle and his eyes catch the blaze of the fire behind Sirius’ head – that he realises what they’re doing.

Because they’re  _ dancing _ and in a few minutes the song will come to an end and the fire will be undisturbed and Remus is going to have to face the big bad reality that is his very much unrequited crush on Sirius Black and  _ worse _ , he’s going to have to face the fact that despite all his hopes and dreams of  _ maybe I’ll tell him next month _ and  _ maybe after we’ve graduated _ will be  _ crushed _ because there is no disputing the fire and if it says they’re not meant-to-be they’re just not—

_ Meant to be _ .

And Remus isn’t sure, if, for all his bravery, he is ready to face that heartbreaking little titbit this Christmas.

Except that isn’t actually something he can  _ tell _ Sirius.

So he averts his eyes, ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach and hacks on, “Sirius, we shouldn’t—I mean, you  _ know _ the story right?” he dares to glance to the right, and the fire is licking up into the air, wild and boisterous and free and it reminds him of a certain someone and wow, he’s seeing things for sure now, “I mean we—“

The grip on his waist tightens and he’s kind of forced to look at his friend again, the boy’s fingers digging into his hips. To his surprise, Sirius is still smiling, eyes soft as they meet his own and he thinks he’s going to  _ die _ because his breath is stuck somewhere in his throat because this  _ light _ is colouring Sirius’ raven hair, setting it alight as it frames his face and his  _ eyes _ —

“We’ll be together forever? There’s nothing I’d rather want Moony.”

It’s not funny how  _ not _ funny that sounds. Sirius’ voice is as gentle as it’s ever been, and his hands release the pressure on his hips, as if to make sure he can pull back if he’d so choose to. Which is  _ stupid _ , because Remus  _ would never _ , and the longer they continue twirling, the longer he  _ looks _ at Sirius and neither of them burst out laughing, every second that passes with Sirius’s eyes studying his face he kind of realises that maybe it’s not funny because it’s  _ not _ a joke.

So he does the absolute bravest thing he’s ever done, in all his years at Hogwarts as a proud Gryffindor. He leans into his friend a little closer and then kind of nudges their foreheads together, and Sirius’ bites his bottom lip,  _ nervous _ , and that is pretty damn funny because he rarely ever gets to see Sirius nervous.

And then he smiles, and Remus thinks he must be smiling too, very stupidly, at any rate. Sirius moves his hand from his hip to grasp his own, and then allows the brunette to twirl under their arms before bringing him back in close. They’re so close now, and Remus thinks he’s quite sure there’s no heterosexual explanation for this,  _ honestly _ , so he brings their foreheads together again too, just because he can.

Sirius is grinning now, his canines showing and he smells  _ so good _ . It’s all just  _ Sirius _ , and the air is thick with it, his scent, something soft, like cinnamon, and something strong, like cloves, but also cigarettes and  _ wet _ , and it’s magical.

He wants to bury himself in that scent, take a bath with it, surround himself with it, because it reminds him of  _ happiness _ . Of waking up in bed with the wolf water bottle still held warm at his feet with Sirius’ magic. Of brushing his teeth in a bathroom where all the towels smell like Sirius. Of morning hugs or afternoon hugs or holding hands and then his mittens being  _ drenched _ in the smell. Of a big Shikoku running off into the forest and the scent so clear Remus can practically  _ see _ its trail to the older boy’s hiding place and—

And the music is building up to its crescendo, and Sirius’ hands are tightening on his hips and then they twirl and he can see the fire, flickering up into the night sky and Sirius uses his arms to lift him and—

And then he sees it.

He goes up and so does the fire and it climbs high into the sky and there’s a wolf there, snarling and showing its fangs but a Shikoku sprints out from the flames and runs circles around the upset predator and then they’re just chasing tail and—

He doesn’t realise even as Sirius sets him down, because he’s too engrossed in the sight before him, where his wolf self is running after Padfoot in the fire.

He’s so distracted he  _ almost _ misses the look Sirius gives him, and then he  _ almost _ misses their second kiss, which is, arguably, much better than their first, because there’s a fire with their future depicted in it and this time he gets to wrap his arms around Sirius’ hips and their bodies meet, flush and warm, and he wants to stay there forever.

It feels like only seconds, but he thinks maybe his sense of time is a little screwed. Sirius lips are comfortable against his own and he’s  _ drowning _ , but in the best of ways. He thinks nothing will ever beat this moment in time, locked in an embrace and  _ safe _ and he wants to spend the rest of his days there.

And, he will.

***

They do eventually end back up at the house, after stuffing themselves full off doughy delights and some hot mead. They watch Leola play music for other couples, and take Oydis and Svante out for a walk away from the crowd, and then when their kisses are getting a little more intense, Remus thinks their safest bet is to head back home.

He tells himself he’s not nervous but that’s a big fat lie if he’s ever told one.

It’s cool though, because Sirius isn’t used to second guessing himself and from the determination set in his brow, Remus can tell he isn’t about to start now. So they kiss very gently before making their way up the stairs, and with his best friend’s hand in his own, it doesn’t seem that scary at all.

Sirius takes off his haori first, the outer layer of cloth shedding to a heap on the floor, and the brunette finds out he hadn’t been lying, earlier, about his obi. The obi is a soft yellow interwoven with golden, and it sparkles in the dim light of the room – he hesitates for just a moment, before realising,  _ it’s okay _ , because he can give into the need of his itching fingers.

Just sliding his hands over the fabric feels sinfully good, but only because he’s imagining what lies underneath. Sirius helps him with graceful fingers, and they undo the beautiful bow on his obi together. It drops to the floor carelessly, and although Sirius is usually very careful with his formal clothes, he steps over it to reach the brunette, hands reaching out to bury in the soft sides of his sweater.

Maybe that is a little bit like a dream, feeling the careful press of Sirius’ fingers in his bare sides as the boy draws his sweater up, off of his chest. He feels shy, knowing he is baring all his scars before, objectively, the most handsome man he’s ever met, but Sirius is still smiling, and his fingers press into the spots Remus hates the most, making them tingle and feel  _ good _ .

It tickles a little too, but that too, feels good.

As Sirius’ hands brush down his chest, he gets to push the kimono open and off, revealing another thinner layer of cloth. That follows swiftly, with a little chuckle from the raven at Remus’ eagerness, and then there’s just all this  _ skin _ , white as milk with black ink etched across. On his chest there’s the moon cycle, always moving and shifting, from full to half to new and to full again. Below the moving moons, there’s the replica of Regulus’ breast reduction scars, put their after his younger brother refused to take off his shirt in embarrassment at the scars on his now-flat chest.

There’s kanji, up and down his sides, too, like black pencil strokes, thick with the ink as it crawls over his skin, gentle rustling where Remus’ fingers touch it. There’s runes running above his belly button, and then Remus gets quite distracted, because there’s hands fumbling with his zipper and—

He forgets how to think.

Sirius touches him through his briefs and maybe that will be the last thing to ever happen to him,  _ ever _ , because his breath gets caught in his throat and it feels  _ really _ good. He lets the boy explore, pressing his eager fingers into his length and then dipping down into his briefs and maybe he’ll just spontaneously self-combust because  _ wow _ .

His knees might give way, so he nuzzles into Sirius’ neck, nips at his shoulder, and then they move to the bed.

“Oh!”

Remus is about to pull his friend down with him when the raven suddenly perks up, grinning. He doesn’t say anything but makes a mad dash for their suitcase. When he comes back, he’s wearing nothing but the cockiest grin, holding a rubber and a bottle of lube, and Remus is quite sure he’s never been this red in his whole entire life.

He watches as Sirius comes to settle down besides him, wriggling around to make himself comfortable with his back turned to Remus. He doesn’t have to say anything, because Remus is pretty sure he  _ knows _ but he’s also—

“Please?”

If there was any coherent thought left in him to doubt, that would have effectively wiped them all away. Because he has all these memories, dancing around his brain, of Sirius, tears in his eyes, knees raw and bleeding from where he's been knocked around by the Whomping Willow on his attempt to follow Remus, way back in first year - and he says, "please" – and then later, they're in fourth year and he wants to buy Remus a set of dress robes for the yule ball and he sticks out his bottom lip, making it quiver as he goes, "please?", and these instances are few and far between and Remus know that this one will be added to his private Sirius-Black-Begs archive, locked somewhere deep away in the depths of his thoughts.

But of all of those, this one is probably the best, because Sirius' hips are moving sensually, his spine curling so he can flatter his back into the brunette's tan chest and his cheeks are flushed pink, the otherwise pale skin ablaze. His fingers are reaching backwards, pulling quite desperately at Remus' hair, forcing them close, and Remus thinks he hasn't been this turned on in probably ever, Sirius' breath laboured with just the touch of their bodies.

Remus allows himself to enjoy the view from his spot nuzzling into his friend's neck; the ink on Sirius' back form intricate pictures of dragons, a deer, a wolf, a dog and a rat on adventures, the design moving as if to cuddle into Remus' delicate touch. It's absolutely breathtaking to watch, and he loves the way the art moves around his fingers, shifting over the white skin – the way Sirius huffs softly at the teasing touch. 

He might be a little overzealous with how much lube he dribbles down his fingers and over Sirius' pale buttocks but then they are both also just very much unexperienced and he doesn't think too much caution can be a bad thing in this situation, at any rate. The stuff feels gooey as he dips his fingers into it, and it’s a little cold until he gets it between Sirius’ crack, where the skin is warm and damp already.

The room is heady with Sirius’ scent now, and Remus feels a little lightheaded with it. He buries his nose in the raven’s nape, licks at his pale skin as he traces his finger over his spot. Sirius makes a  _ sound _ and then he dips in and he makes another sound and then when Remus crocks his first knuckle the raven  _ moans _ into the pillow.

It might be driving Remus a little crazy, because he pushes into the tender body harder and feels the urge to just  _ take _ what is his without abandon. He puts his teeth over Sirius’ pulse point, at the joint where neck meets shoulder and he can feel his heart beating against his tongue and it’s working overtime now, the taste of it sweet in his mouth.

He works his way up to three fingers, a surprisingly hard feat with the way Sirius’ hips are bucking back into him, the boy’s moans obscene in the otherwise quiet room. Remus keeps his teeth pressed into his flesh, nipping just a tad too hard, but Sirius is pushing back into his touch – his body confused, not knowing whether to press closer into the fingers, or into the canines – and he enjoys watching him unfurl in his arms, cheeks pink with exertion.

There’s a tiny little illicit thought playing at the back of his head; he could mark Sirius now, as his own. It would be pathetically easy, really, with how trusting the raven is, how he’s thrown back his head to reveal pale column and his bared shoulder, defenceless against Remus. He could just bite down right now, dig his teeth in, and it would be over before Sirius properly realised; and then he’d be mated, for all eternity, Remus’.

But it’s playing with fire, Remus knows, and it’s not  _ fair _ . So he licks into the faint indentation his teeth have been making, running it across the ridges, and he’s about to pull back when—

Sirius’ fingers curl tighter into his hair, craning his body so that he can look back over his shoulder.

He’s even more flustered than Remus had realised, languid drips of sweat running down his temples and his lips flushed red and left open in a gasp.

“Please,” he says again, voice hoarse and dark and—“I want you to.”

Remus wants to tell himself his friend doesn’t know what he’s asking, but realistically speaking there is no one who knows as thoroughly as Sirius does. Because he’s always been perhaps a tad too keen to learn about Remus’ affliction, has done all the research, has listened to Remus confess his deepest and darkest thoughts,  _ knows _ what it means to be marked by a werewolf and—

And he’s asking him to do it nonetheless and it seems like a silly thought, in retrospect, to say no to the person who will be with you forever. Because more than just the knowledge of the wolf living inside of him, he believes in the myths surrounding the fire, and he knows that they are  _ blessed _ .

What that means, they get to decide for themselves, and if Sirius wants  _ that _ to mean  _ this _ , than Remus is hopeless to deny him.

So he brings his teeth back there, fits them into the ridges he’s made earlier. He meets the pace of Sirius’ frantic hips, curls his fingers into the hot wet heat of his friend’s body and then bites  _ down _ .

Sirius practically  _ howls _ , and then Remus can feel his body tightening as he slams his waist back and as the tangy taste of copper fills his mouth he realises the raven is coming. His body keeps convulsing, his release splattering against his own chest and all over the sheets and Remus watches it with half-lit eyes, lapping at where he broke the milky skin with his fangs.

“Feels good?” Remus murmurs into his neck, kisses over where the skin is already healing up with the magic of his mate’s saliva.

The sound Sirius makes isn’t human, somewhere between a whine and a moan, and his hips fall still, his cheeks still flushed. He turns to receive a lazy kiss and then when he opens his eyes again, Remus can see the sparkle still there, setting the dark irises alight with mischief.

He’s already pulling away from Remus’ touch and turning around in the bed before the brunette can properly process what’s happening. And then Sirius is straddling him, a mischievous smile on his face as he fans the condom with his fingers.

Remus is pretty sure he looks like a fool, because he’s smiling so brightly his face hurts, but his friend doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, his own grin dimpling his cheeks.

He does this thing where he slowly stretches out his body, as if to relax his straining muscles, moves his head this side and then that, showing off his freshly made mark. The tattoos on his hips move, fidgety, so Remus reaches out to hold them, and then Sirius reaches up and takes his kanzashi from his high bun.

His hair falls down, the dark locks framing his face beautifully and if Remus is being completely honest, there is something pathetically arousing about the sight.

So he kind of impatiently nudges at Sirius’ hips, watches the boy grin cheekily, and then he feels the nimble fingers fumble to get the wrapper off and the rubber on and—

Sirius’ fingers had felt like heaven, before, but it was nothing compared to the sweet press of his body. He’s tight and warm and his thighs tremble as he moves up and down and there’s a drop of sweat travelling down his collar bone and Remus falls in love all over again. Because his lips are slightly parted, red to match his pink cheeks, and his hair is flowing down his shoulders and his eyes are  _ wild _ , so unhibitioned, Remus can’t  _ breathe _ .

“I’m so lucky,” Sirius hums, voice scratchy as he speaks, “you’re so handsome.”

And it’s stupid because Remus should be the one saying those things except his mouth is dry and he can’t speak, just  _ groan _ as he tries not to come embarrassingly quickly.

An impossible feat, with Sirius’ hips gyrating in his lap, the boy biting his own hips as he moans, “ _ Moony _ , you feel so  _ good _ ,” and he’s half hard again, bobbing against his own stomach as he rides Remus with abandon.

It proves to be too much of a sight to see, and Remus just kind of chants, “ _ Sirius _ ” and then with his fingers digging into the raven’s hips, comes so hard he fears he might black out.

Sirius doesn’t stop moving, slows down his hips but keeps them going just enough so that he can milk the brunette dry. His eyes are wild, hair in his face and his lips blood red and Remus is sure he’s never seen anything so beautiful before.

It takes a while for Remus to come back down to earth, because everything is  _ Sirius _ , black hair, black eyes, black ink. He watches in a daze as the boy carefully lets him slip from his body and then slumps over slightly, still straddling his waist, but his thighs now exhausted and still.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Sirius moans articulately, and then nothing.

They take moment to catch their breath, Sirius’ hands find Remus’ chest and he keeps his fingers playing over the tuft of hair there, curls them into the skin as if to find some leverage. It isn’t until they’ve both properly regained their breath again that Sirius allows the brunette to push the black hair from his face, gazes meeting fondly.

“Can you…?” Sirius nudges his head in the direction of the bed, where he created quite the wet spot earlier.

His cheeks are still pink, so Remus isn’t sure whether or not his friend is blushing, but he likes to imagine he’s at least a little bit self-conscious of how copiously he’s come.

Remus is in no mood to tease him about it, however, because he quite liked the whole ordeal, and he doesn’t put it past Sirius to refuse him any further orgasms out of spite. So he nods deftly and lazily reaches for his wand so he can wave it around and clean up the soiled mattress.

The raven looks rather deflated as he smiles gratefully and then just kind of  _ flops _ down besides Remus. It’s hard to stifle his giggle, so he doesn’t, and Sirius has the audacity to look insulted before he pouts instead.

Before Sirius can ruin the moment by being a childish git, Remus reaches out and gathers him into an embrace and he lets out a kittenesque mewl instead of an annoying whine.

Sirius tucks his head underneath the brunette’s chin, and then, after pressing a kiss to his chest, mumbles, “best Christmas present ever.”

Although Remus laughs again – much to the raven’s chagrin – he can’t find it in himself to disagree.

***

He wakes up wrapped tightly in Sirius’ embrace, and even though for a second he’s afraid it’s all been one amazing dream, his friend’s scent mixed with his own makes him so heady he has no doubt that he’s wide awake. Sirius is cuddled tightly into his back, hands possessively crossed over his stomach, and the raven hair is tickling into his neck. He’s also slightly drooling, if the damp spot on Remus’ shoulder is anything to go by.

It’s  _ not _ attractive. But Remus couldn’t be happier.

The hot water bottles are both tucked by Remus’ feet, and he feels a fondness in his stomach at the realisation. He wonders if this is what reciprocated romantic love feels like.

They end up showering together, too, an altogether far too exciting ordeal, if you ask Remus. It’s something pulled straight from his wildest dreams, Sirius all wet and foamy, suds running over his milky skin and Remus’ fingers buried in his long hair as he rinses it. He’d already known from experience that Sirius is good at giving massages, but having his naked body pressing along his back, gentle fingers massaging into his hips, that’s  _ so much better _ .

If Remus is being honest, he’s pretty sure he never wants to leave the comfort of the hot water again, Sirius’ soapy shoulder pressed into his own as they kiss beneath the spray.

Sirius wraps him into a fluffy towel afterwards, rubbing his arms to keep him warm before getting in front of the mirror to dry his own hair with his wand delicately. It’s a cute sight, so Remus gets himself changed and then continues to watch his boyfriend get ready - even just the  _ thought _ , Sirius Black,  _ his boyfriend _ , has Remus blushing - enjoying just watching him.

The older boy gets dressed in a pale blue yukata, and after he’s properly dried his hair, he uses a silver kanzashi to put the long dark locks up.

Remus can’t help but laugh as he watches his friend fuss, adjusting his collar this way and that in hopes of bearing the mark Remus’ canines left the other night.

“You gonna show that off?” he asks, voice teasing.

“Now that I still can,” is Sirius’ immediate reply - and Remus feels his own face fall.

It’s a quick thought: Sirius wants to keep this tucked away, like a shameful little secret.

Before he can linger on it, however, he’s already finding himself being wrapped into an embrace, the raven’s arms coming to rest on his hips as he eyes the other boy seriously.

“I meant that everyone here knows you’re a werewolf so it’s okay to flaunt it,” he explains patiently, and Remus just kind of nods, a little bit dazed, “I really want us to still be together when we go back. What about you?”

The confession makes Remus’ heart thump quite painfully, the spoken words so tender he wants to cry. He nods, swallowing a thick uncomfortable something stuck in his throat before he can reply a meek, “yes,” and he knows he’s blushing and smiling like a fool but he doesn’t really care.

Sirius grins, leering as he replies, “ _ good _ . Now how about we get back to bed? There’s this thing with my tongue that I’ve been practicing and I really want to show you.”

Remus is pretty sure he blushes a darker shade of pink at the words, but he nods as eagerly as he can, laughing as the older boy presses a kiss to his nose before dragging him back over to the bedroom.

Afterwards, they go down in remarkably good spirits, because Sirius’ practice has made him pretty damn perfect.

They get greeted with the smell of mulled hot wine and pancakes, but before they can make it to the kitchen, Leola is coming out of the living, waving her arms around frantically at the sight of them.

“Boys, I was just about to come get you! Your brother is in the floo!” her distress is making her voice a little bit more accented, but she has a smile on her face nonetheless, shooing them off into the living room before disappearing to continue preparing breakfast.

When they enter the living room, it’s to the screams of Regulus Black going, “ _ no _ James _ it’s my turn to-- _ ” and then just shrieking.

The floo is a blur of arms wrestling against each other for a moment, until Regulus seemingly shoves the older raven out the way quite bodily, his face popping up to grin cheekily, “well? Did you hook up yet?”

_ “Regulus! _ ” they hear James’ voice, his hand trying to push the younger Black brother’s face to the side, “ _ you can’t just ask them if they’ve hooked up! _ ”

Regulus rolls his eyes, “seeing how I’m the one that  _ got them together _ \--”

There’s more spluttering, but this time it’s Sirius who’s responsible for the very immature sounds. Remus feels his ears go redder with every passing second and then Sirius, the absolute twat, has the nerve to go, “ _ ummm I got myself boned thank you very much _ ,” and it’s all just very much downhill from there.

Generally, there’s a lot of yelling and shouting and Regulus and James trying to shove each other out of the floo to get a proper look at the two Marauders, Sirius and Regulus has a screaming match in Japanese of which Remus can only understand the word “penis” and at one point James’ glasses almost get knocked of his head. Remus does a lot of impatient foot patting and groaning as Sirius goes way too detailed into his stories, and then he just does a lot of embarrassed blushing as Regulus continues to explain about how both Remus as Sirius apparently had come to him to nag about their crushes and how that had led Regulus to write Remus’ grandmother - of whom he’d heard nothing but mischievous words - and get her into his little set-up plan.

He calls it his, ‘get my obnoxious brother fucked sideways’ plan, but even as Remus’ cheeks go bright red, he’s pretty sure he can see the fondness in the younger Black’s eyes. It’s not supposed to be a touching moment, because all of Remus’ friends are pretty much little shits, but he feels endeared nonetheless.

They continue being annoying for the rest of the conversation, even as Sirius very noisily complains about how to two ravens left at Hogwarts should be  _ grateful _ for the whole pile of presents Sirius’ left them. James just whines about how stupid it is unwrapping gifts without them and how now he’ll have to miss the look on Sirius’ face as he unwraps his own gift because it’s apparently going to blow his mind.

To which Regulus goes, “it’s already blown,” with a fat wink and it’s just ridiculous how loud James laughs and how undignified the sound Sirius makes is.

All in all they spend the best part of two hours in front of the fire, listening to James’ tales of Hogwarts life without them and Regulus’ dirty interjections - Sirius pretends to be exasperated, but Remus knows he’s proud of how filthy his little brother’s humour is - and telling their own versions of what’s happened.

It’s pretty entertaining because where Remus keeps it quite short and simple, Sirius gushes on and on about how much he’s been suffering, forced to sleep besides his crush while not being allowed to touch him, how horrible it was to see other people flirt with him and getting to react in jealousy but Remus never knowing it was all true. He makes it all sound horribly dramatic - which it really wasn’t - and then he dares to demand kisses, too, but Remus can’t find it in his heart to deny him.

They have to end the floo call when James and Regulus get called away for breakfast in the Great Hall, and there’s a lot of waving and overly exaggerated thrown kisses.

Remus lets the raven fall into his arms on the couch, and even though his stomach is grumbling, he can’t find it in himself to force his boyfriend up. They lay in silence for a moment, as Sirius’ fingers run patterns over Remus’ wrist, his mate mark visible in the crook of his neck when he turns to lock their eyes.

There’s another sensation in his stomach altogether now, and if Remus didn’t know any better, he’d call it butterflies, the sight Sirius makes remarkably tender, eyes soft.

He gets a kiss pressed to his lips, the taste ever-sweet. Remus thinks that this is without doubt the best Christmas he’s ever had, and with Sirius’ weight resting atop him, he hopes he never has to leave.

“So,” Sirius murmurs into their next kiss, fingers finding Remus’ nape, “maybe we  _ should _ get Regulus a souvenir.”

***

 


End file.
